


The Window

by Anonymous



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Body Horror, Character Death, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, animal injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Harry finds Macy in the attic.  Heartbreak ensues.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Comments: 22
Kudos: 33
Collections: Anonymous





	The Window

Harry orbs to the foot of the stairwell, fear and shame stopping him from teleporting directly into the room. She’d seen what happened between Abigael and himself and he still had no words that seemed adequate enough to explain himself, if such words even existed. He’d been a fool. A jealous, bitter, selfish fool.

He gets to the top of the steps and stops. She’s sitting at _their_ bench wearing _that_ dress. His breath catches in his chest as he’s transported back to nearly a year ago when she wore this exact same dress while they sat and talked about friendship and family and loneliness. The dress she was wearing when he first realized just how easily this brilliant and kind and impossibly beautiful woman had stolen into his heart.

But instead of the soft smile she'd worn when he spoke about his isolation or the wide grin when he had teased her about wanting to visit Mama Roz, Macy has her lower lip caught between her teeth and a furrow creases her brow. She’s sat leaned up against the large round window when something strikes at the glass. His heart leaps into his throat and just as he’s about to rush into the attic he hears a stilted flutter of wings before something small and soft thuds onto the ground below. A bird no doubt, poor thing. But the damage is done. High up and close to the edge several cracks have formed, all large and bloody. A wedge shaped shard has been knocked inward and Harry can hear the whistle of a breeze flowing into the attic.

His attention is drawn away from the darkly smeared fragment when movement near the bottom of the window catches his eye. He watches silently as Macy rises from her seat. He notes with surprise the large wine glass clutched in one hand. She’s never been much of a drinker, his Macy. Much less one to drink alone. And yet here she is, rising unsteadily to stand on the bench. _This is your fault, Harry._ One hand holding the near empty wine glass the other reaching for the loose shard several feet above her head.

Harry watches as she rises to her toes, the moonlight casting a deep shadow in the delicate arch of her bare foot. _Dear god, how every single inch of you is beautiful._ Beauty that he will almost certainly never be permitted to touch now that he’s broken the heart within. _I should have told you when I had the chance._

The tips of her finger brush against the protruding shard but her foot is too near the edge of the small bench. For sure the padded seat was never meant to be stood upon. It wobbles away from the window and Harry’s stomach clenches. He takes a step into the darkened attic but his presence remains unnoticed. Macy drops her arm for a moment and the bench steadies. 

The bench steadies but the witch herself then wobbles, droplets of wine in her glass flying up and over the rim to splash on Macy’s hand. Harry stands transfixed as she brings her hand to her mouth and lets her tongue swipe at the gleaming droplets dotting the back of her hand. 

But any dark warmth that sparks within him at such a sight is doused by the bitter and suspiciously watery chuckle that bubbles out of her before Macy tosses back the rest of her wine glass’s contents. She casts about, perhaps looking for a place to set her glass, but does not appear to find one. She stares at the empty glass in her hand and that terrible laugh spills from her lips only now he recognizes it for the sob that it is.

“ _Fuck you, Harry Greenwood_.” 

It’s hardly more than a whisper and but for the silence of the attic he might not have heard her tear soaked words. There’s determination laced in with the sorrow of those words and Harry feels his heart crack, an answering sob to hers rising up in his own chest.

He needs to tell her. Tell her _something_. He needs them to be anything, _anything_ , other than this warped and angry version of themselves. Because regardless of whatever parts of himself he’s lost to the darklighter, he cannot lose his friend. Macy is a part of him he knows he will not be able to live without. He needs her, them, to find their way back to each other.

-

She’s reaching for the shard again. The clouds clear and for a moment her long, exquisite form is outlined by the bright glow of moonlight. The hem of her dress swings delicately around her knees and Harry’s fingers twitch at the sight. His breath lodges somewhere high in his chest and he knows at that moment (though, he’s known for much longer than that) that anything and everything Harry has ever wanted is right here in front of him. And he must make things right with Macy. Whatever Macy may have seen, whatever else Abigael may offer, there is nothing outside of this room he could want more.

_“Macy…”_

_-_

Harry sighs her name and in the thick silence of the attic, it catches her attention. And in less than the space of scream Harry’s entire world crashes to the ground.

A soft gasp escapes her lips and she turns.

Macy’s foot slips against the worn upholstery and the bench gives a violent wobble.

Time slows to a cruel crawl and Harry watches as the bench tips away from the wall. Macy twists her body in a vain attempt to right herself. Her shoulder crashes against the center of the window. The impact sends the glass flying, spraying out into the night sky and Macy falls.

A scream.

His.

Lost in the lashing sound of his magic tearing his body apart and reforming it by the window.

His name. 

Macy screams his name.

His name, torn from her lips as her fingertips brush against his outstretched hand.

Another flash as Harry wills himself to the ground.

Too late.

He materializes and the sound of flesh and bone breaking against cold, unyielding brick pierces his ear.

He gathers her body…

Oh god, her _body_ _…_

Screaming.

His.

-

He rocks and croons to her unmoving form, hand glowing uselessly as he smooths wet, copper scented curls away from her stilled features. He lays gentle kisses on her smooth brow and cooling lips. He whispers words of love and promises of always and happier times to come, of peaceful times and future children. He hardly notices the wetness soaking through the sleeves of his dinner jacket. Nor the sounds of fury and grief emanating from the ruined window above.

A young voice, Maggie, wailing her sister’s name again and again.

Another voice, Mel, screaming.

“Not again. Not again. NOT AGAIN.”

-

Harry’s world spins and his eyes snap open.

The command center.

It was just a dream.

A dream.

A _nightmare_.

A **_warning_**.

The command center brightens briefly and Harry Greenwood disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm actually far more calm about the mid-season finale at this point, several days later. I started this fic in a fit of, let's just call it, pique. But I'm gonna run with it because it entertains me to do so.


End file.
